Reunion
by corellian-smuggler
Summary: Han and Leia are reunited after Han returns from two months fighting in the Outer Rim. Rating for sexual content.


**Reunion**

"Miss me, Princess?" Han asked against her lips.

Leia huffed and tightened her arms around his neck.

"Maybe," she breathed into his mouth, but it was blatantly obvious to both of them as she eagerly returned his kisses that she had. She'd missed him desperately. A few months apart would have been hard enough, but Han had been put in charge of a covert military operation in the Outer Rim so close to one of the last fully operational Imperial bases that full communications silence had been stipulated. Nothing more than short encrypted transmissions had been possible, and so as a result Leia hadn't even spoken to Han for two entire months. The intense concern for his safety, the yearning to hear his voice, the desperate need to feel his arms around her… Leia hadn't thought it would be possible to ever miss him more than she had when he'd been in carbonite, but then, while she'd known she'd loved him like she'd never love another, she hadn't yet heard him return the sentiment, hadn't yet known the ease and comfort and indescribable rightness of entrusting her heart to him, of being seen and accepted at her most vulnerable; she hadn't yet known the joy of accepting his love in return.

Leia had barely been able to remain professional when she'd met him at last in Bay 6, and she'd all but launched herself at him the moment they'd stepped into their quarters. Frissons of pleasure had shivered down her spine, warming her chest and curling her toes and coiling in her belly when he'd wrapped his arms around her. _Two whole months._ She was grateful when he'd started kissing her, relieved that he appeared as desperate to hold and touch and kiss her as she was to feel him.

"Maybe?" he growled, tearing his lips from hers to press hot, nibbling kisses against her neck. Leia groaned and tilted her head, surrendering the tender skin at once. " _Maybe?_ I'm gone for two months and you say 'maybe'? I spend every damn night dreaming of you, and you say _'maybe'_?"

Giggling through the intense shiver his ardent kisses incited, Leia shook her head and pressed her body as closely to his as was possible while standing on her toes and craning back her head.

"Stop talking and take me to bed," she told him tartly, and then yelped as his large hands immediately hitched under her thighs. Her legs came to rest easily around his lean hips, her arms anchoring her to his shoulders as his fingers gripped her thighs and buttocks. He felt so good after two months, his body so warm through his clothes, his strong frame sturdy and solid as he carried her, his sensual lips perfect against hers.

"That a royal command?" Han asked with a broad grin, eyes sparkling in the warm light of the room. Despite their teasing she could tell by the tenderness of his expression that he sensed her desperation and all the reasons for it.

She kissed him as her response, and he carried her into the bedroom without delay, the sound of his boots on the flooring and his breaths in her ears resonating poignantly within her chest. Two months she'd missed those sounds. Two months she'd felt bereft without his voice and his warmth and his caresses.

Finally Leia felt their mattress against her back as Han deposited her on the bed beneath him, and it felt like the whole galaxy suddenly ground to a halt, her entire being reduced solely to Han, leaning over her with his palms braced against their bed. She looked up at him, wondering vaguely if her gaze conveyed her love as wholly and completely as Han's did, for she could practically feel it against her skin, warm and adoring.

Then her lashes fluttered against her cheeks as he kissed her again. Of their own volition, her hands were drawing him down to lie on top of her, and his solid weight covering her small body was even more glorious than she'd anticipated. Leia opened her mouth to the hot sweep of his tongue, reveling in the taste and heat and sensation of it moving slickly against her own. Han's hands roamed leisurely over her body–rubbing along her arms, sliding along her waist, gripping her thighs and ass and studiously avoiding the parts of her that were aching for his touch. One languid kiss melted into the next until Leia was breathless beneath him. Even after he'd first introduced her to more intimate pleasures, Han's kisses still left her weak-kneed and dizzy, so that every movement of his mouth against hers had her more and more anxious for him.

Her desire amped up to an almost unprecedented degree, she reluctantly drew her fingers from his soft, disheveled hair to tug at the hem of his shirt. He'd stepped off the ship in his uniform and the sight had–as usual–hit her like a punch to the stomach. While she loved scruffy flyboy Han Solo–engine grease and spacer vests and worn leather boots and all–something about seeing him in the clean lines of those navy slacks, starched collar buttoned snugly at his wide neck, his muscular arms and broad shoulders and trim torso accentuated by the fitted shirt… Command suited Han Solo, and she knew he was aware of the uniform's effect on her.

Finally she succeeded in yanking the garment loose from his belt, and she sighed as she slid her palms over the skin of his chest and abdomen, her fingertips tracing along the smooth, taut planes of his strong body. Han hummed his approval, sucking at her lower lip and at last cupping her breasts in his hands. Leia didn't know if it was because she wanted him so very badly, or because they hadn't been touched in two months, but her breasts had never felt more sensitive, and she whimpered as he palmed them through her clothes, arching her back to press them into his touch.

Han's lips left hers.

"I dunno, Your Worship. Seems like you missed me quite a bit," Han chuckled, expression cocky and smug as he glanced pointedly down at her needy response to his hands fondling her.

Leia narrowed her eyes, prepared to scold him, but her retort died on her lips as he squeezed the tender flesh, thumbs rubbing over where her nipples were hard and aching, and Han's grin widened.

"Don't you dare make fun of me, Han Solo," she warned, the words half-hearted and breathy, and she bit her lip and rolled her hips into his as he continued his attentions. The mirth in Han's expression faded as his gaze grew heavy and hot. She watched his eyes focus with rapt attention on his hands gripping her aching breasts, but rather than soothing, his touch only inflamed her desire further.

Leia sighed and ran her arms up around his neck, caressing the skin there as he returned her embrace, holding her close. She nuzzled her face against his shoulder. His skin and clothes smelled so good, so clean and masculine and _Han_.

"I did miss you," she admitted against his collarbone. "You wouldn't believe how badly I missed you."

Han's arms tightened around her.

"I think I got an idea," he murmured so lowly that she trembled, any pretenses completely cast aside, and all at once his kisses became loving and tender, their caresses lingering and sweet. Leia hadn't doubted that he'd missed her as much as she'd missed him, but to hear him confirm it out loud was a thrill of pleasure she hadn't anticipated.

Nudging him back so that she could see to the buttons of his shirt, Leia unfastened just enough for him to sit up on his knees and pull it over his head. He tossed it carelessly to the floor, and her hands were on him before he'd even settled back over her.

"Knew you missed me," he said contentedly, his breath leaving him in one long, pleased exhalation as she smoothed her hands up and down his back, lightly tracing her nails against his ribs and shoulder blades as she reacquainted herself with flesh she'd been deprived of for two long, lonely months.

Leia had half a mind to spend a good hour just looking her fill at him, kissing him all over, touching him everywhere–but Han seemed to be growing impatient with her state of dress, and with a groan he pulled away from her ministrations again to coax her shirt off. Goosebumps rose all over her as her skin was kissed by the cool air of the room, a stark contrast against the fierce heat of Han's hands and lips on her. She felt his nimble fingers fumbling for the clasp of her bra and grinned up at him as he glanced down at her bared chest and tossed the undergarment blindly to the floor.

His touch and expression were gentle as his knuckles grazed the tops of her exposed breasts, but his hazel eyes had grown dark and intense and he swallowed thickly as he looked down at her. Leia shivered beneath his gaze, the knowledge that he loved to look at her reinforcing her own pleasure. His expression whenever she undressed for him usually landed somewhere on a spectrum between grinning, almost goofy appreciation and predatory, heated satisfaction, and his regard after two months apart was heavy with a near-palpable lust that sent another rush of heat down into her stomach and between her legs. His work-roughened hands against her delicate skin had her practically squirming as he gripped her tits, lifting them and feeling their weight, and she couldn't suppress her whimper as his thumbs finally grazed her swollen nipples. Lightheaded with want, Leia brought her own hands up to cover his and encourage his touch. The rumbling hum he responded with was low and pleased and raised a hot blush on her cheeks and neck and chest.

"I missed these," he told her mischievously, before leaning down to give her a few more tender kisses. She could feel his cocky smirk and kissed him again to hide her own.

"Scoundrel," she scolded breathlessly, shaking her head as he nuzzled her neck. "You're supposed to say you missed _**me**_."

Han's voice was a hoarse, intimate murmur near her ear.

"Actions speak louder than words, Princess."

With that his trailing kisses moved down her throat. She had to bite her lip as he went to work on her, nibbling and sucking and kissing. She felt the scrape of his teeth against her pulse point, the following sweep of his tongue. His lips peppered her skin all the way down to her collarbone and chest, where his hands were still kneading and caressing. She could only arch her back and tug at his hair as he kissed along the swell of her breasts, desperate for the feel of his lips at their stiff peaks. He was teasing her and she knew it, but she was too breathless with anticipation to protest. Finally his fingers gave way to his mouth, and the simultaneous relief and torment she felt was so powerful that she almost laughed at herself. She sighed and clutched at his arms as he suckled first one nipple and then the other, relishing the exquisite heat and pull on her flesh–adoring his tender attentions as he gently used his teeth on her, his deft fingers pinching and rolling whichever taut bud wasn't in his mouth. He knew exactly how to touch her, how to kiss her, and the ache in the core of her body became almost unbearable as he continued to lave at her with more hot licks and sucking kisses.

Leia ground her hips against his and felt him hard against her. She fumbled between their bodies for his belt buckle, but to her consternation he sat up and rolled off of her. For a moment she was confused and a little indignant as he drew so abruptly away, his heat replaced by a cold draft that assaulted her flushed skin and soaked nipples. Then she realized that he was bent over the side of the bed to frantically tug at the fasteners on his boots, and she shook her head and sat up behind him, pressing against the warmth of his bare back.

"Han Solo, what were those filthy boots doing in our bed?" she demanded, even though she continued to run her hands over his sides and shoulders and neck, pressing her lips to every part of his skin that she could reach.

"I would've taken 'em off sooner, but someone jumped my bones like a lothcat in heat the second we got through the door," he teased, kicking the boots from his feet and hastily tugging off his socks.

Leia smacked his shoulder.

" _A lothcat in heat?_ "

"And besides, I just polished them this morning," he continued. She glared at him as he stood and made short work of his belt and fly, quirking a cocky grin at her as he quickly pushed off his trousers and climbed back onto the bed. "I'll have you know that I take Alliance dress code regulations _very seriously_ , Highness. I wouldn't be caught dead with dirty boots."

He gave an exaggerated shudder as he nudged her back against the pillows, and she rolled her eyes, her cheeks aching with how big she was smiling. He sat before her on his haunches, his broad chest and shoulders golden with a tan that never seemed to fade completely. Her smile widened and she bit her lip as she took note of the erection straining the front of his briefs. He glanced up and caught her eye as he unfastened her pants, but their silly teasing quickly gave way to mutual hunger as she lifted her hips to allow him to slide them down her legs.

"Did you really dream of me every night?" she asked distractedly as her panties followed her pants to the floor. They rolled together onto their sides, Han's hand gliding over her calves and thighs and hips as he settled beside her. She'd meant the question to be banter, but his wistful smile seemed serious and honest as he pushed a few stray wisps of hair behind her ear.

"Not every night," he confided, his hand smoothing over her shoulder and rubbing down her back. "Some nights thinking about you kept me up."

Leia smiled and raised her eyebrows.

"Thinking about me?"

"Fantasizing about you," he grinned, his hand coming to rest suggestively against the curve of her bottom.

"You think you're so smooth," Leia shook her head, threading her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"And you agree with me," he informed her. Leia didn't even bother to answer. The desire to feel his skin against hers had become impossible to ignore, though they were both still smiling as she drew his mouth towards hers again. It seemed that he pulled her against him at the same moment that she desperately moved to press against his body, throwing her leg over his thigh and arching against his chest while his hand pressed against the small of her back. The sparse hair of his chest teased her nipples, the flat plane of his abdomen pressed against her belly, and his hard length against her hip had her rocking against him, shifting her thigh higher over his waist.

Everywhere his hand touched her set her on fire: the heat of his palm and fingers scorched a tingling path between her shoulder blades and down her spine, up and down her thigh and along her waist and ribs. She mewled against his lips as he made a pass over her breast–groaned when his strong fingers gripped her ass and ground her against him, the fabric of his undershorts rough against where she was wet and burning for him.

Finally, when she was nipping at his lip and grinding against his groin and running her hands under the waistband of his boxers to squeeze the taut muscles of his buttocks–when she was half-mindless with want–his hand slipped between them to play between her legs. Leia moaned pitifully, not realizing until the moment she felt the calloused pads of his fingers grazing the slick flesh there how badly she had been craving that contact. Was this how spice addicts felt, finally taking a hit after two long months of withdrawal? She felt drunk on Han's touch, high and greedy for more–more of it, more of him…

"Oh," she sighed as his thumb pressed against the most tender part of her body. Han held her impossibly closer, his breath harsh against her neck. His fingers slipped lower, delving between the folds of her sex, and Leia dug her fingernails into his shoulders.

"Kest, Sweetheart," he mumbled. The words made her even wetter. He stroked her slowly, the rhythm and pace exactly what she needed, a testament to how intimately he knew her, how perfectly attuned he was to her body and her desire.

Han rolled her onto her back and immediately she spread her legs wider for him–gave him more room to touch her. The rolling of her hips was practically out of her control as she moved to meet his fingers, panting into his shoulder. The shudder that went through her as he pressed a finger into her vibrated all the way down to her toes, and she was whimpering as he began to gently work it in and out of her body.

Leia moaned softly, hiding her face against his neck. Sometimes she couldn't help it–her body felt strung so tightly that she was sure she'd burst, the vulnerability and pleasure and intimacy of Han's touch so intense that she needed to anchor herself to him, to take refuge against his body.

He eased a second finger in alongside the first, and Leia thought she might die as he pressed them against that spot inside of her, working in tandem with his thumb. The sweet, aching pressure of it was almost more than she could take. She tensed around his fingers, legs shifting restlessly as her body strained against the pleasure.

"Ohh," she keened.

Han drew away from her embrace, his free hand cupping her face for a moment before tangling into her hair, come mostly loose from it's braid as she'd tossed her head against the pillow. Leia could feel his eyes burning her skin–could sense through their connection his feverish need to see her face as he pleasured her.

"That's it, Sweetheart," he bit out as she rode his hand, panting and trembling beneath him. She met his gaze hazily, inflamed by the look on his face, but she couldn't keep her eyes open as she focused on his touch.

The tension in her belly was coiling tighter and tighter, the pressure between her legs growing with every stroke, and Leia knew she was close–knew that Han wanted her to go over the edge–but she didn't want to come until he was inside her, wanted the completion of his body joined with hers for the first time in months. Somehow she found the presence of mind to reach for his arm and still his hand.

"Leia–"

"I want you," she told him. She wanted to see him, to touch him, to feel the hard length of him pressing into her. She hooked her fingers into his underwear and shoved them as far down his hips as her position would allow, until with a groan Han pushed himself up on his arms so that she could push them down far enough for him to kick them off.

The sight of his arousal made her throb. Every part of her body was burning as she wrapped her hands around him.

"Fuck, Leia," he hissed. Beside her head his hands tightened into fists in the sheets, and Leia felt the accompanying, heady thrill she always got when he reacted that way. It was immensely satisfying to realize the power she had over him–the ability to drive him as crazy as he drove her. He was impossibly hard as she stroked the length of his shaft, his thick member pulsing in her grasp. Her chest felt tight looking up at him, with his strong arms supporting his weight above her, the smoldering desire and love in his eyes, the tense line of his jaw, lean body taut down the length of his torso to his narrow hips, where her tiny hands were wrapped around his straining erection… Leia's mouth went dry.

"Is this what you fantasized about?" she asked as she slid her hands along his cock; her voice came out husky rather than coy, and shook with the trembles running through her limbs, her entire body fraught with need.

Han groaned again and bent to brand her lips with a fiery kiss, shifting down to align his hips with hers. Immediately Leia complied, spreading her legs for him and allowing him to settle against her thighs.

"I'll show you what I fantasized about," he growled. He kissed her again and again, and Leia's arms came up around his neck once more, fingers sliding through his hair and caressing his cheeks and jaw.

They were both breathing heavily as Han finally reached between them to fit himself against the entrance to her body, and Leia clutched at him as he pressed inside her. The stretching and fullness after two months felt intense–his length and girth overwhelming–and she was trembling and panting when he was finally as deep as he could go.

Han was whispering her name over and over, kissing her forehead and eyelids and cheeks. Leia pressed at his back, encouraging him to rest his weight more fully against her as she drew her legs up to wrap around his waist.

For a moment neither of them moved except to press kisses against necks and shoulders, Han's hands running the length of her arms from shoulder to elbow as she hugged him to her body. The flood of emotion she felt floored her; even though he was the one who'd been away, she felt like she'd come home. Suddenly her eyes stung as she lay there beneath him, enveloped by his strong, safe arms, his big body on top of and inside her, filling her and pressing her into the mattress.

It had alarmed her, how badly she'd missed him. She wasn't accustomed to needing anyone so badly, convinced that she was independent and efficient. She'd been embarrassed and angry with how difficult she'd found it to sleep without him, how lonely she'd felt unable to confide in him–ask his advice, laugh with him, seek the refuge of his company at the end of the day–how anxious and tense she'd felt every morning to wake up without him, not knowing if that very day he'd be hurt or taken from her. The realization that her days of strict self-reliance were over had hit her hard. She had Han's love and support and she loved that she could depend on him–didn't care that she needed him. Their reunion was like breathing for the first time in two months. Her lips trembled as she pressed them to his, but he must have caught sight of the tears in her eyes.

"Leia," he murmured. She cut him off with another kiss, running her palms over the sleek skin of his back.

"Getting all mushy on me, Princess?" he asked gently. A watery little laugh trembled on her lips, and she kissed him again, her heart full to bursting with love for him–with joy and relief to have him back, safe and whole and scruffy, in her arms.

"Aren't you supposed to be demonstrating something for me, Flyboy?" she asked as she blinked the burning from her eyes, and Han grinned and held her tight.

Their lovemaking after that was tender and indescribably passionate. Leia tilted her hips and kissed his chin, desperate for him to move, and after one more deep kiss he pushed himself up onto his elbows. The emptiness she felt as he withdrew was a wanting ache, and she moaned as he pushed back inside of her. They settled into a deep, rolling rhythm that had her whimpering and digging her heels in against his thighs. She was so wet for him, the slick friction delicious as he drove into her.

"You feel so kriffing good, baby," Han whispered near her ear, and Leia moaned again. He was the one who felt good–the heat of him, the size of him, the hardness of him inside her. She reveled in the feel of his hips moving between her spread legs, his hot, slick skin against her, muscles bunching under her hands. Again and again Han pushed into her, until she was gritting her teeth and scratching at his back.

The angle of his thrusts changed, and he brushed a place deep inside her that ached so sweetly she cried out, her hands flung back to clutch at the sheets at either side of her head. Within moments Han's hands were there, coaxing her fingers away from the bedcovers. She gripped him tightly, palms against his, their fingers laced together as he continued to move, touching that same spot over and over again.

"Oh," she all but sobbed. "Oh… Han… Oh…"

Every muscle in her body was tightening, the pressure inside her blissful agony as he rode her. Leia met every thrust of his hips, clenching around his length, desperate for him–desperate for him to feel what she felt.

Their gazes met and locked as they rocked together. His expression was utterly rapt as he watched her, his sharp eyes focused with searing intensity. Another thrust. Another. The ache between her legs was so much, so much… Leia was rigid, her thighs trembling uncontrollably around him, her whimpers catching in her throat.

"That's it, Princess," Han urged, voice low and hissing between his teeth. "That's it… C'mon, Leia, come for me, Sweetheart…"

The provocative entreaty sent her over the edge. Her back arched as she shattered, muscles spasming around him, the pressure finally breaking as agonizing pleasure shot through her, unbearably sweet between her legs, rolling through her belly and tingling up her back. Her mental defenses blown to dust at the height of her pleasure and vulnerability, Leia was, as always, suddenly laid bare to the Force–felt it like fire in her blood as she came, felt it all around her, felt Han–his presence, his essence as he pumped her once more, twice more, three more times as he rode her through her shuddering orgasm until finally he groaned and shook, too. She felt his fierce pleasure, felt the heat of him coming inside of her, and the powerful sensations kept her shuddering helplessly in her own release for several more galaxy-stopping moments.

Finally, she caught her breath, gradually regaining control of her limbs. Her hands were still linked with Han's, her ankles locked behind him, and his head rested next to her ear as their bodies stilled. Leia sighed and shivered, tightening around Han and tilting her hips against him as aftershocks trembled through her sex.

Han groaned and gave her hands one final squeeze before releasing them. She hugged him as tightly as her shaky arms would allow, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder and neck and ear while he nuzzled her hair and temple.

"I love you," she breathed. "I missed you so much."

"I know, Sweetheart," he assured her, returning her kisses. Finally Leia relaxed into the bed, accepting his kisses along her collarbone and jaw. "I know."

Han drew back to look down at her, his satisfied grin and tender gaze washing over her like warm water. She kept her legs around his waist, not wanting to part from him yet, but Han didn't even try to pull out of her. Instead he rested against her chest, humming his approval as she combed her fingers through his damp hair, palms cradling her shoulders while he traced little circles there with his thumbs.

Finally, Leia nudged him off of her, ruefully allowing his withdrawal to alleviate the stiff pressure against her hips. She gingerly lowered her legs back down against the bed, and Han wound his arm around her waist to draw her back against his body. She snuggled against him, her entire body lethargic and satisfied, sated all the way down to her bones. Leia hadn't felt so content in two months. With a sigh she ran her foot lazily up and down Han's calf, traced her nails over his back, smiled against his chest. Not for the first time, she was struck by the undeniable _rightness_ of lying in Han's arms–the powerful, decisive belonging that she'd felt the first time he'd ever held her. It seemed even more insistent after their two months' separation, and she was awed to feel so safe and whole and cherished in a way that for so very long, she'd never thought she'd feel. Never thought she deserved to feel.

"That was nice," she purred into his skin.

"Mmm," Han agreed, kissing the top of her head. His chest rumbled against her ear as he spoke. "Definitely some of our best work."

"Better than your fantasies?" she teased.

"Sweetheart, you're better than my wildest dreams."

Leia laughed and shook her head.

"Smooth," she murmured, but she knew he'd only been half-joking, and she smiled widely as he tightened his arm around her.

For a while they lay together, kissing softly. Han's hands roamed leisurely along her back and hips, his touch tingling comfortingly over her skin. She sighed heavily as he caressed her breasts, the attention tender and loving but no longer sexual.

"We are never doing two months of comm silence ever again," she informed him once the sweat had dried on their bodies and Han was tugging the comforter up over their legs.

"Damn right, we're not."

Leia paused for a moment, wondering if she should give voice to her thoughts. Finally, as Han was sprawling onto his back and drawing her against his side, she spoke quietly into the stillness of the room.

"I've been thinking about what I said… before you left. I know I wanted to wait for the war to be more definitively over–until after we can establish a new government, but…"

Beneath her, Leia felt Han tense, and he swiftly propped himself up to stare at her.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" he demanded, his hazel eyes searching her face.

Leia nodded.

"I hated being away from you like that, Han, not knowing what would happen or if you'd come back," she whispered. "And I realized that if we wait, and something happens to one of us…" she swallowed thickly. "I changed my mind. I won't let the Empire have that kind of control over my life."

Han's expression remained determined and serious for another moment, and then slowly the corners of his mouth turned up into a huge, breathtaking grin. He lifted his hand to her face, his thumb brushing along her cheek.

"So we're getting married?" he asked, beaming.

Leia's apprehension vanished at once, powerless against his enthusiasm.

"If you still want to, that is," she grinned. "I know how wary you are of long-term commitments."

Han shook his head, drawing her close.

"I've been committed to you since Day One, Your Worship."

He kissed her fervently–jubilantly, and exhilaration bubbled in her chest and skittered to the far corners of her body. They were getting married. She was going to marry Han Solo–and not just "eventually," as she'd assured him when he'd first asked, but soon, right away, as quickly as it could be arranged. She felt like she was soaring.

"Han?"

He stopped his ecstatic kisses to glance up at her.

"I think you should demonstrate those fantasies again," she told him in her calmest, most composed voice.

She squealed as he tackled her back against the pillows.

 **A/N:** _Ahem. This was my first time writing anything even remotely sexual, so any feedback would be very much appreciated! To be honest, I can't even believe I finally bit the bullet and wrote this. I guess it's been inevitable, though, considering how hard I ship Han and Leia. Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :) -Erin_


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